Turning Point
by Tomasaiesec
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle is a young boy discovering his magical abilities. Adventure awaits and choices have to be made.
1. New Years Eve Prelude

Prelude- New Years eve

The streets were mostly empty now; she would only come across couple of festively dressed people on their way to celebrations with their families. For her there was no family to turn to, no feast or New Year's resolutions. It was all too late, way too late.

The few people that she met paid her no attention; their spirits were too high to notice a pregnant girl in tattered clothes scurrying along the street. The light from the street lamps broke down in the grayish mist that lay over the city and the moist air sent chills down her spine. If only she hadn't stopped giving him he potion.

From the houses she couldn't avoid seeing the warm glow and through the window of a particularly big house she watched a family happily singing together at the dinner table. A little boy, around the age of three clapped his hand constantly and even though she could not hear anything she felt warmth as they all broke out in laughter.

She looked away, she had to continue, she had to get in somewhere, and she must save her child, their child.

She tripped over an uneven stone in the curve of the sidewalk; her first instinct was to cover her unborn child so she wrapped her arms around her stomach as she fell. She could hear her sleeve rip apart and the rough stone cut through her skin. It did not matter at all, all that matter was to get help, the child was coming, the contractions were closer between now, and the water had broken almost half hour ago.

She had heard about an orphanage in this neighborhood, they would be able to help her, help her child. As she pushed her self back up, she saw a couple, in their 50´s walking down the street, he supporting her arm as the walked happily towards her. They did not notice the girl in front of them until they almost walked her down. Her skin, gray as the air and the clothes all dirty and ripped. They looked at her sympathetically. She did not care, all her pride had been beaten down by her father long ago, the rest of it swallowed down in her own self pity after he left her.

"Orphanage, where?" She said trying hard to get the words out between her clutched jaws as yet another contraction shook through her. The faces of the couple changed simultaneously first with a look of shock which then was replaced by pity. They handed her a five pound bill and pointed back from where they had been walking.

"It is the big gate, three houses down from here."  
She took the money but her thoughts were raging. How dare they pity me, I am a descendant of Salazar Slytherin, how dare those muggles look down on me. But outwardly she said nothing as she scuffed past them and headed for the orphanage.

What was becoming of her, she thought as she saw the reddish brick walls of the orphanage. She had never before looked down on muggles, in fact she loved muggles, one muggle in particular. She had never been proud of her wicked ancestor, not like her oppressive father or crazy brother. No, she was not going to start acting like them in the last moment of her life, no matter how dark the situation looked, she would not step down to their level.

She had no idea what time it was but she believed it must be around 9 judged by the glimpses she had seen through the windows of all the fancy houses, where all the happy families had been eating earlier and now had started playing games or singing along to music. She laughed, cold short breathed laugh. Why was she wondering about the time, it was not like she had to worry about a proper visiting times, she had long ago crossed the proper standards of the muggle society, no matter when she would knock on the door, she would never be proper. Then why, she asked her self, was she standing in front of the door of the orphanage, unable to knock on the big, black metal door?

Then another contraction took over her body, she leaned against he door, trying to keep her body away from falling. This had been less than two minutes from the last one. She made up her mind, and knocked on the door. She waited what felt like forever but in reality was probably closer to a minute. She knocked again, more desperately, what would she do if they did not open the gate. How would she save her child? She started breaking apart from the inside. As the sobs starting breaking out on her dirty face, the transparent tears dragging soot and other dirt down her face, becoming brownish before they fell of her high chin bones, the door opened a tiny bit.

Through the crack of the door a young woman looked at her.  
"Wha' is it?" The woman asked throwing her head aside as she asked.

"Please help me, for the sake of my child." She answered through her tears.

The crack on the door opened slightly more as the young woman turned her head over her shoulder and shouted.  
"Joan, come here, we need to help this poor little bird."

Her strong accent making her unmistakably Scottish. Another woman in her early 30's appeared in the door pulling it open. She placed the arm of the pregnant girl around her shoulder, signaling the other girl to do the same with the other arm. Together they carried her to an empty room on the ground floor.

The room was neither big nor clean, but that was the best you could expect at an orphanage. The girl introduced as Joan started giving orders to the girl that had opened the door and another girl that had appeared as they were carrying her to the room.  
"…and get some towels in her, but remember the water can not be too hot either, go, go. Shirley, what are you doing standing there, didn't I tell you to let Ms. Martins know of our emergency." She waved her hand dismissively at Shirley which quickly looked down and ran away.

Joan ran her hand across the sweaty forehead of the pregnant girl.

"There you are, there you are, you are save now; it is all going to be all right. My name is Joan Cole, you just call me Joan. What is your name?"

She felt so powerless, so finished, physically and psychologically she would had walked ten more miles if needed for her unborn child, but now that she was here, she did not care. She heard Joan talking but did not really get what she was saying. Everything became a bit blurry, the walls of the white room started closing in on her, the sounds of the children and the voice of Joan mixed together into a ringing tone and before she knew it she had passed out.

While see was out, all she could think about was her love, the beautiful muggle, why had she fallen in love with him. If only she had never seen him. The rage her father must have experienced when he saw the note. She did not care much for her father, but still, parental love is innate. She had felt bad disappointing him, all his life she had never lived up to his standards, and then she had destroyed the pure-blood line of the Gaunts. But Tom had been worth it all, if only she had not stopped giving him the potion. She saw them dancing, remembered his gentle touch, his kisses. They had been so happy.

She was brought back from her unconscious day dreaming by yet another contraction, much stronger than anyone before. Then she felt that something wet was touching her face. She pulled her eyes open in a shocked manner; she did not realize where she was at first. She clasped her fist and shouted;

"Expelliarmus"

Before realizing that first of all she had no wand and second of all that wet touch was a wet sponge that Joan was using cleaning her. Then it all came back to her, and as she looked around she saw that there were four woman standing with her, her ragged clothes had been removed from waist down and her legs had been put into labor position.

"Now push, push, it is almost there." Joan said, bringing the wet sponge to her face again.  
"I can't, I can't." She said crying, mustering all her strength just to get those defeated words out of her lips.

"You must, for your child, push for your child." Joan said encouragingly.

This seemed to touch a hidden string in her soul and with all her might she pushed, pushed harder than she ever believed possible as a searing pain paralyzed her whole body.

"The head is out, now you are almost there, one more push, one more push and you can hold your beautiful baby." Joan said this almost automatically; obviously she had taken part in delivering babies before.  
The girl felt that she could do no more, but something inside her told her to do this one thing and that would make up for all her mistakes through life. She gave one last push and felt when the pressure suddenly stopped. She opened her eyes, which she had kept shut as she was pushing. She saw Shirley cutting on the naval string and then quickly cleaned most of the slime from the body, before wrapping it in a white towel and passing it to her like a little baggage.  
"Congratulation, it is a boy."

She reached her powerless arms out and took the little boy in the towel. She held him close and watched him.

"He looks just like his father," she said faintly, "so beautiful."

She stared into the dark eyes of the boy that blinked at her; she noticed that he was not crying. Were newborn children not supposed to cry? She wondered for a second, but she did not care, she was holding the most beautiful boy in the world. She was in her own world and did not notice what was going on around her.

When she looked around her face was shining with a big sincere smile that was the only thing that possibly could make her rough face remotely beautiful. But the people around her were not smiling, they were looking very serious.  
"Grace, we need more towels, now!" Joan was shouting at Grace who looked frightened but obeyed immediately.

"Shirley, go out and try to find out why Dr. Klapman is not here yet. If you find him tell him that we have an emergency."

As Shirley ran out Joan turned to the last woman who had to be Ms. Martins. She had a certain air of authority about her and the girl presumed that she must be in charge of the orphanage.

"I don't know how much longer she can keep in there, she has lost a lot of blood, and I am unable to stop the bleeding." Joan told Ms. Martins.  
Ms. Martins walked and sat beside the girl while Joan continued working between her legs.

"Poor child, poor child." Ms. Martins said as she tried to take the boy out of her arms. But the girl held tight on to the boy, her beautiful boy, she would not let go of him. She turned to Ms. Martins and said:  
"He is to be named Tom after his beautiful father, Marvolo after my father and he is Riddle, beautiful little Riddle." She felt that she could not move her self any more and breathing was becoming harder and harder.

Ms. Martins smiled, "you will name him that yourself, as soon as Dr. Klapman gets here you are going to be all right." There was no conviction in the voice and the girl tried to shake her head but felt all dizzy and unable to move. She fixed her eyes on her newborn boy.  
"Beautiful little Tom Marvolo Riddle."  
She felt her hands loosing the grip on her boy, everything started to get in and out of focus. But there was no pain, only happiness, she had saved her son.

She never woke up again but Ms. Martins and Joan Cole thought they heard the girl whisper Tom Marvolo Riddle, one more time before she drew her last breath.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1- The Orphanage

"If you throw that potato, Dennis Benson, you will regret it."  
The hurried footsteps of Ms. McCollum echoed through the canteen, her voice ringing forcefully in the ears of the group of children that were eating their lunch. Their heads turning excitedly between Dennis and Ms. McCollum, waiting to see how this all too common scene would play out, although this happened every other meal time it still provided the children with a rare excitement in their otherwise dull days.

There was one child that did not get sucked into the excitement of the fate of Dennis Benson or the potato that was still held high in his arm. That was a 10 year old black haired boy who stared uninterestingly at his plate. "Potatoes," he thought to him self, "food of the common man. How could anyone get him self in trouble with the ignorant Scottish girl, McCollum, over a potato. Dennis had surely reached a new level of inanity."

His fork slid into the overcooked potato and with a grunt he tried to chew on the tasteless substance that the staff, of this downgraded government institution, called food. "It is not acceptable to expect human being to eat that slob on the plate. Well, then again no one looks at us as human beings anyway." The boy thought and furrowed his brow slightly. Life in poverty was all that was waiting for him, life shared by millions of others. Just like his name, Tom.

He hated that name, name so common that it was almost hard to remember due to the sheer number of people, normal people, which shared that same dirty name. He had early on denounced the name Tom and demanded, often by force, that people call him Marvolo. That is, until Ms. Cole had told him it came from his mothers family, the mother that had abandoned him in this miserable place, abandoned life without ever caring for him. He was forced to accept the name Tom, but resentment and rage built up every time he heard that indignant name. Not even his last name could be special, Riddle, what kind of name was that? His name could just as well have been a John Smith.

Ms. McCollum now stood over Dennis, her hands crossed over her flat chest, her eyes glaring at the boy who obviously fought an intense internal battle. But as he seemed to decide to buck down and his arm slowly started to lower down. The dark haired boy, that had started, reluctantly so, to watch the scene, although with a clear air of superiority, felt a stabbing disappointment when Dennis seemed to be backing out of what might be a good entertainment. "Throw the damn potato, don't be a coward."

Dennis was looking down when suddenly the potato flew out his hand right into the face of astonished Ms. McCollum.

Three things happened simultaneously, all the kids broke out in wild cheering, this was going to be a historical lunch. Dennis looked bewildered, his jaw dropping down, the colour in his freckles fading away. Ms. McCollum started shaking, her fury only matched by the excitement of the children. As she grabbed now sobbing Dennis, he stammered helplessly; "I didn't, I was putting it down."

"How do you suppose the potato ended in my face then?"

Ms. McCollum snorted as she pulled him up.

"We are going to see what Ms. Cole will say about this."

As Dennis was dragged out of the canteen, the kids went into furious discussions about this remarkable event. Dennis Benson was now a hero, a David that had taken on Goliath, although this Goliath was a under nourished petit looking Scottish woman, that did not matter, he had dared to do something no one else had done. This time the black haired boy was also smiling, although he did not consider Dennis a hero. "I did it again, amazing, how does this work, I must do it again." He thought while he re-lived the moment repeatedly in is head.

He had lived in this pitiful place for almost ten years now, every day of his monotonous life. He still refused to call the orphanage a home. He was sure; beyond doubt that his treacherous mother had run away from his father and that his father would be looking for him, to take him to a better life. It was only matter of time, and time was something he had enough of. Life here at St. Katherine Orphanage was extremely un-interesting, although most of the kids seemed content with life, running around in senseless games, laughing at each other foolishness. Tom on the other hand refused to join in, he just observed from the distance, wondering where his father would be right now, if he was getting close, if this might be the day. But each long day ended and every time he went to bed carving a little line in the back of the headboard. He had gotten the idea from a book, book about a man, stranded on a deserted island. He had marked each day in his cave to keep track of time. Tom liked the idea, liked looking at himself as temporarily stranded in this desert of human intelligence.

The first night after he had read that book he had moved the aged, heavy bed away from the wall. There on the back of the head board some kids that had called this bed theirs, before Tom, had already written and carved into the dark brown oak. Mostly it was dreary phrases such as:  
"Nina was here."

"Johnny's bed."

"Gloria+Damien."  
But now, after over three years of carving the approximately one and a half centimetres long lines into the wood, every night, those hollow messages were long lost behind tight grid of lines. One-thousand one-hundred forty three, Tom whispered as he carved the newest line that night, before moving the bed again to the wall.

Tom didn't pray before going to bed, no matter what Ms. Cole said, there was just no way, that he would pray to some god that had left him in this place. He did, on the other hand get his tin box. That tin box meant more to him than any god. He fetched it from the bottom of his, almost empty, wardrobe and opened it. The joyous feeling he felt when he saw the interior of the box made these dull days worth living. This was his treasure, not a treasure in the conventional sense. He would not be able to get any value for the things in the box, but to him personally those three things were beyond value, priceless.

First of all, the box it self brought him joy, it was the proof of his first achievement. It had been a biscuit box, filled with Danish butter biscuits. They had been meant for desert after the Christmas Eve dinner but as the kids opened some worthless presents, he had snuck into the kitchen, taken the box and hid it outside. The disappointment in face of the other kids as they were told there would be no desert filled Tom with indescribable satisfaction.

For the following month he had eaten two biscuits a day, remembering the sad faces of the other kids as he felt the soft biscuit dough crumble between his teeth. After the box had finished he had not been able to throw it away as originally planned, he had entertained the thought of placing the box under someone's bed and watch them take the blame. In the end he had decided to keep the box as a sweet memory of his first major achievement.

Since then the box had served as the safe keep of his conquests, so far two more trophies, one a yo-yo which he had picked up as James Trotter ran away crying with his pants wet after Tom had somehow managed to hurt James even without touching him. They had been fighting because James tried to follow Tom behind the small shed on the grounds outside the orphanage. As James seemed to be gaining control of the fight, pinning Tom beneath his unusually big calves, Tom had somehow thrown James of himself and as the rage took control he had walked towards James that lay on the floor screaming in agony. Tom had pushed him up against the shed and whispered.  
"Follow me again and I'll do that while you sleep, every night of your miserable life." He had let go of him and as James crumbled to the grass, franticly trying to get up to run away his yo-yo, a piece held in high esteem by all the kids, as it was the only yo-yo in the orphanage had fallen out of his pocket. Tom had picked it up and kept it in the biscuit box as a reminder of that beautiful moment. Since then, he had spent many hours contemplating over this incident, wondering how he had managed to throw James of, and why he had been in so much pain.

The second memorandum was an old, worn out, mouth organ. It had been the only thing that silly girl Amy Benson had from her parents. Tom ran his fingers over the rough surface of the mouth organ and a smile emerged on his face as he remembered the day he had acquired it. She had been showing of as so many times before, playing that darn instrument, although she could not keep a simple tune. Every one had gathered around her and watched in awe as some horrible sounds emerged from that metal instrument. Tom stood, as so many times before, a little bit away from the group. He watched as she played that blasted thing she got the respect of every one of the drooling fools in the orphanage. That infuriated Tom and as that happened to him; the mouth organ soared through the air, straight into his hands. This had happened so quickly that the kids were all looking around the wooden box Amy had sat upon while playing. No one thought about looking over to Tom who held the mouth organ deep in his pocked, excited and incredibly happy over this strange incident.

The last object in the box was the smallest, but gave Tom the biggest thrill it was a tiny silver thimble. It had belonged to Mrs. Cole, the annoying obnoxious person that ran this so-called institution. Tom had been in her office waiting for a lecture from her after an argument he had just had with that moron of a boy, Billy Stubbs, which had ended in him throwing Billy of him, into a bookshelf knocking him out for a second or two. Billy claimed that Tom had locked his legs although no one took that seriously. He had been smelling the sherry in the bottle that stood on her desk as she entered the room. She grabbed Tom by the shoulder and pulled him away from the desk.  
"Never touch that again, you are way to young, child." Her words were like a slap in the face for Tom. Child, child, how dared she calling him a child, he was admittedly only ten years old, but that was a hideous way to asses ones place in life. Even the staff here, although three or four times his age, were much more fitting to the adjective child than he was. He was a young adult. As he turned around, ready to snap back at those ridiculous words of that foul woman, he suddenly felt as he was inside her head. He felt as if their minds were connected and that he could control her, just by thinking. He felt for a second as she fought for the control of her mind, but he subdued that with ease and then he started experimenting. He made her kneel before him, tap-dance and act like a dog before he stopped for a moment, pondering what he could make her do as a final token of this marvellous experience, something for him to remember her weak state, her complete helplessness forever.

Then it had dawned upon him. Her thimbles, she collected those stupid thimbles, she had over two-hundred thimbles already. They were arranged in a special shelf behind her desk, neat and orderly rows of fifteen thimbles each. There was one thimble that had a special place; it was a silver thimble with the name of Malaga written on it. It lay on a tiny blue, velvet pillow, inside of a glass box. It was the proof she had of her only vacation abroad. Not many people had the opportunity of travelling abroad and especially not people working in an orphanage. She simply could not stop talking about her wonderful week in this unremarkable city. Tom had long before promised himself never to go to that city. He made her open the box, carefully remove the thimble and give it to him. Then he had her kneeling before him one last time before he let go of the control of her mind.

She had stood there for a second, confusion apparent in her face as she was trying to remember what she was about to say. She had then shrugged her shoulder before starting a lecture about how fighting was a destructive behaviour and how rules must be obeyed for a place like this to work. The whole time Tom just stared at her feeling triumphant beyond anything he had ever experienced before.  
"How did I do that, I must learn to do that." He thought, rolling the thimble between his fingers behind his back, while nodding occasionally as Mrs. Cole kept talking about the mundane things of the orphanage.

Tom placed the thimble in the box again, looking over the three trophies, feeling revitalized, ready to go to sleep, ready to welcome his father tomorrow, ready to collect even more trophies. He carefully hid the box again before laying down on his useless pillow. Another day finished, maybe tomorrow, maybe tomorrow.


	3. Chapter 2 Unleashed powers

**Chapter two- Unleashed powers **

Tom was now a year older, eleven years old. Nothing much changes in a year, especially not if you are an orphan, spending every day in worthless activities, anything that might lighten up the otherwise dull days. But this last year had been different for Tom, he had been trying to understand and control these things he had been able to do by accident in the past. Inflict pain, control people, summon things these were some of the things he had started to be able to do consciously, to some extend by now. This gave his life a purpose; it was not anymore just a wait for his father. Although he was still sure he would come soon. But now it had become a valuable time to discover and gain control over his talents, gifts, skills, powers or whatever it was.

Every day he had again and again tried to perform the same actions he had been able to do before. Most days nothing happened and any normal kid would have given up. But that was the difference, Tom was not a kid, he was self acclaimed young adult and he knew persistence was the only way to push forward and that repetition was the mother of all skills, so again and again he tried to do one of his tricks. It had taken him almost two months mastering the summoning skill, but now he could easily move things around if he concentrated enough. He could not yet summon them with the speed and the accuracy he had done with the mouth organ, but he was sure that by continuous practicing he would get there.

Inflicting pain had been even more difficult, but after focusing on that for more than five months he could now send animals, such as cats or dogs, that occasionally strayed into the grounds around the orphanage, into spasms of pain. That brought Tom immense pleasure, but he had still not been able to produce the same pain in the other kids as he did with James, although occasionally he managed to inflict a short moment of pain during dinner times.

The mind control he had managed to exert over Ms. Cole was proving to be the most difficult skill to learn, after excruciating six months all he had been able to do was to make a single spider jump up and down. Even that had not been until after he had tortured it with his pain skill couple of times, making the spider very weak. But that moment of control lived in his memory, proof of his special talents.  
"Just wait until I master this skill, you will all obey my will, you worthless fools." He thought eagerly as he sat up in his bed. Too bad, that today, he could not follow his normal training schedule. Today there was a stupid beach trip. Tom did not see the difference in letting his brainless fellow orphans run around in their idiocy in the grounds around the orphanage or in the countryside, but this was a yearly event and for some reason all the kids were very excited about this.

He got dressed and for a second, loosened the fake bottom in his wardrobe, took a look at his tin box. That was just what he needed before a three hour bus ride with forty imbeciles. He could only too easily remember these intolerable bus rides, the worst thing was that due to the small size of the bus they took he normally had to sit next to someone speech retarded drooling moron that would always try to talk to him or play some pointless games.

It was therefore not with pleasure or excitement that Tom slowly got dressed and got himself down for breakfast.  
"Great variety we have here." Tom said mockingly as he got the over cooked, over salted scrambled egg tossed over his plate by Ms. McCollum.  
"Well it is the same as we normally have." Ms. McCollum answered obliviously.

"It is called sarcasm, you moron, but I guess your IQ does not comprehend such a concept." Tom thought as he sat down at his normal place, away from everyone else.

The kids all ran out as Ms. Cole announced the arrival of the bus. For some reason the kids were all trying to get into the bus first. As if that would help them getting to their destination, any sooner. Tom was the last kid to enter the bus and to his great disappointment it was as he had feared, there were no seats except next to someone. Tom picked a seat next to a kid that was kneeling on the seat, facing backwards, talking to the kids in the row behind him. Tom knew his name was Eric, but not much more, and he liked to keep it that way for the duration of the trip.

As the bus took of, the kids started singing, not a single kid could hold a note which made it excruciating to listen to. To add to Tom's fury over the sad fate of having to listen to those sounds the staff of the orphanage joined in clapping and shaking themselves to the apparent delight of the kids who sang even louder. Then after each song the bus roared in laughter, what they were laughing about he did not know. Why a song about a spider getting washed down by the rain was so hilariously funny he did not understand. Although he understood the enjoyment of seeing the spider suffer, but this hysterical laughter, he could not understand and yet he had to suffer through it for the next three hours.

What seemed like an eternity later the bus finally came to a halt and just like the kids had rushed in, now they all rushed out. Tom, which refused, not surprisingly, to take part in such a low level of interaction. Pushing and poking in order to gain two or three seconds outside was simply below his dignity. Slowly he stepped down from the bus, onto the grassy field that stretched for couple of hundred meters before the beach came to view. The beach stretched as far as he could see to the left, but on the right there came a hill and the beach turned into cliffs. He decided to walk over there in order to avoid having to listen to the lower level of communication going on between those organisms called kids at the beach.

The hill was neither steep nor long but yet surprisingly tiring to climb, and when he got to the edge he was surprised to see how high it was, there was almost a straight drop down to the sea that battered the weathered rocks of the cliff. The white lush kept crashing up into the air, with occasional drop reaching Tom's face. He sat there for a while, enjoying the silence, throwing small stones into the incredible force of the water. But as he lay on his stomach looking straight down into the sea he noticed something else, a cave.

He started trying to climb down but soon saw that although climbable, his legs were just too short to reach the footings he needed to get down there. As he was half hanging over the edge trying to see into the cave, someone grabbed his arms starting pulling him upwards. He turned his head sharply, to his fury he saw the kid, Eric, and a girl, Amy to which the mouth organ had belonged, trying to pull him up.

Tom felt furious;

"How dared they breaking the peace and quite up here, how dare they trying to pull me up, distracting me from my observations!" His thoughts went racing through his head.  
"I don't need a help from imbeciles like the two of you I was simply looking at that." He screamed at them as he pulled them to the edge giving them a look at the cave. But as he pulled them down, and he felt their fear rising, his excitement mixed with his fury created something spectacular, something bigger than he had ever done, suddenly they were not at the edge anymore; they were inside the cave.

Tom looked around, triumphant glare on the face. He started laughing, which happened very rarely. Amy and Eric on the other hand were terrified, they hugged each other and looked wildly between the raging sea that came surging into the cave and Tom that stood laughing with his hands in the air, unclear which they were more afraid of, the sea or him.

Amy cried freely but for Eric his fear came apparent as a wet spot became larger and larger on his pants.

Tom on the other hand felt a sensation he had not experienced before, a complete state of euphoria he turned to the kids and with his mind threw them aside as he walked to the edge of the water. With his hands still raised he focused all his energy on the water and like a string puppet the water rose in a whirling motion, forming a water tornado in the middle of the cave. He started laughing again, feeling thrilled beyond words.

But then a sudden thought struck him, which put him out of his mood, sending the water back down, the thought was, how were they to get back up? He grabbed the kids which simultaneously screamed as he grabbed them. He tried to think the same thoughts he had been thinking when it had happened before, but nothing happened. After numerous tries he gave up, dragged them outside and said in a non-chalant voice:  
"We must climb up there." Pointing to the edge where he had been hanging before.

The seriousness of the situation seemed to settle in with Amy as she stopped crying and Eric looked bewildered at Tom.  
"How?" He asked miserably. "How are we supposed to climb up there?"  
"Well you put one leg above the other and you climb, then you must just hope that you don't fall down and kill yourself. Although I wouldn't mind the least if you did." Tom answered irritably.

"And don't you even think about telling anyone what happened in the cave, or I will take you back down here and leave you in the water storm." Tom threatened them, although that was probably not necessary. They started climbing; helping each other, giving each other pushes and pulls where needed. Together they made it to the top and when they got there Amy started crying again, Tom was not so sure if it was of joy, fear or some other reason. Frankly he did not care; he tried in vain to brush the wet dirt of his clothes and looked down to the other kids. There someone was pointing up to them and he saw Ms. Cole and Ms. McCollum starting running up the hill.  
"I didn't know they had such energy in them." Tom thought, amused, at the same time looking worryingly at Amy and Eric, would they tell?

Although considerably older, Ms. Cole reached the top before Ms. McCollum. She grabbed the three of them with speed only acquired after working with children for years, pushed them close together, right in front of her and yelled between her heavy breaths.

"Where the hell have you been, we have been searching all over for you!"  
Tom could not avoid smiling.  
"What do you think is funny about this; I can tell you right here, right now that there is absolutely nothing funny about this situation, you had us all worried." She glared at Tom, expecting an answer.  
"You said hell, and you always say we can not swear, so is it in order for me to say fuck, hell or shit now?" Tom asked trying to put on his most innocent face, but failing miserably.  
"Don't swear boy! How dare you mocking this situation, you could had been injured, or god help, killed!"

"He somehow took us down to the cave and there he…"

Eric which had been on the verge of crying had begun answering. But as he starting speaking Tom felt a heat going through his chest. "The brat is going to talk." He thought and focused intensely on Eric who at that moment fell straight onto his back jerking back and forth in spastic movement screaming in agony.  
"What on earth is wrong child?" Ms. Cole asked grabbing Eric into her arms. The pain seemed to subdue, because Eric started again.

"He took us to the cave…" But before continuing looked nervously at Tom which stared with murderous eyes back at him. He seemed to loose any courage at that sight because he continued:

"But we got stuck and it took as long time getting back up."  
Ms. Cole which had seen the eye contact between the boys knew immediately that there was a lot missing from that account so she turned her face to Amy.  
"Amy, dear Amy; tell me what happened in the cave- don't be afraid." She added as she saw Amy looking nervously at Tom. "Take Tom down to the bus." She added to Ms. McCollum as if she had a second thought. Tom made one last eye contact with Amy, making sure she understood the consequences of speaking. Then he followed Ms. McCollum down the hill.

For several reasons the trip back home was a lot more subdued than in the morning. First of all five hours of outdoor activities seemed finally have made the little rascals tired. Second of all those who still had some energy quickly sobered up when they saw the state of Amy and Eric. The fury of Ms. Cole, the assertiveness of Ms. McCollum and last but not least the murderous eyes of Tom that sent sparks to anyone who dared to look in his direction. His look was so threatening that somehow he sat alone the whole way back, how that could happen since this was the same bus, with same number of kids, Tom did not know, but he liked it, he liked sensing the fear, the respect he got from all the kids.

"This should teach them not to mess with me."


	4. Chapter 3 Visitation

Chapter three- Visitation

Again Tom stood, waiting in Ms. Cole's office. He restrained himself from smelling that darn Brandy bottle again as to not experience a total déjà vu. As walked into the door, her expression reminded Tom of steaming tea kettle, anger blowing like steam from the top of her head. Just like extremely hot tea, Tom did not care much for consuming the wrath he knew was coming.

Ms. Cole sat down behind her desk for a split second before standing up again, her agitation making her extremely agile, Tom had to admire the spring like jump. She walked in front of him, making her self likely to start, but as she had drawn her breath in, moving her hands in her normal emphasis mode fashion, she stopped. She stared at Tom for a little while. It probably lasted for around ten seconds but Tom felt it was much, much longer. At least it was long enough to start wondering if she might not give her furious speech, speech he had heard all too often, by now he almost knew it by heart.

His hopes were crushed only seconds after the thought had surfaced in his mind. It was as if the lid had been taken from the kettle and excessive steam poured out in colossal proportions. Not only were the old parts lectured with an unusual force but the speech contained couple of new parts, never heard before by anyone in the orphanage, and although Tom did not know that at the time, never to be heard by anyone else in Ms. Cole's time at the orphanage. Tom wondered how she would react if he would compliment her powerful speech style, matching historical figures such as Otto Von Bismarck. He decided against it, as it would, apart from infuriating her even further; require an explanation of how he knew about Otto Von Bismarck. He had not, strictly speaking, well, not in any manner of speaking, been allowed to take the books from Ms. McCollum's room.

Since he had learned how to read, at the age of five, he had absorbed all knowledge he could possibly get his hand on. He especially liked a series of history books that Ms. McCollum had in her room. This series of books, bound in thick, dark brown leather covers described the lives of the greatest leaders in human history.

"One day they will write about me." He had thought as he read about the lives of people such as Caesar, Alexander the Great, Genghis Khan and his favorite, Otto Von Bismarck.

He pulled him self from those thoughts as he could hear that Ms. Cole was starting to slow down. He knew he had to listen to the end because there was the summary of the whole speech, and in order to keep her calm and to seem remorseful he always repeated some of the key things while Ms. Cole nodded feverishly in agreement.

"…And although the poor little children seem to terrified to speak about what happened in that cave it was way out of bounds and Billy saw you pull them down there, so it is your responsibility and you will not get away without a punishment this time!"

Tom was struck by anger. He did not care at all about punishment. Normal punishment would involve some cleaning duties and a ban from outdoor activities for couple of days, the length depending on the seriousness of the offense.

The time he had alone in the house he used to get new books from the rooms of the staff and returning old books, besides he could always sneak out of the canteen window that faced the woods that lay behind to the orphanage. No, the punishment was not what had struck Tom in her words. It was the fact that some one had ratted him out, that some one being Billy Stubs. He would get his punishment. Ohh yes he would. The anger that built up inside of him prevented him from doing his normal remorseful routine and he retorted.

"Billy, Billy Stubbs, you take his words over mine?" He quite literally spat as he spoke the name.

"Well given his record and yours," she paused for a second, "then yes, does that surprise you?"

"Billy Stubbs," Tom spoke his name very slow, "an eight year old brat, that can not speak properly, failing on letters like s or r, a brat that can not read even the simplest of texts, a brat that can not add or subtract anything that hasn't to do with food. You take the words of that drooling moron over my words?" Tom's face expressed fury and disbelieve.

Ms. Cole fumbled for a second, seemingly looking for words.

"First of all, don't call your friends brats, that is not the way for a boy to speak." She was pointing at Tom apparently still searching for the correct words to phrase her opinion.

"Although Billy might not be the sharpest kid around, he is honest and for that matter, he is probably not clever enough to try to lie to me." shrugged as she said that, it was hard for her to say bad things about the kids she cared for so much, but truth had to be told here. Even Tom had to admit that she had something there, but before he could think up an insulting answer Ms. Cole continued;

"You, on the other hand, you have always been a very different kid, I think you were three years old when you first tried to deceive me, only just beginning to speak and already in trouble. Sometimes I feel like I am dealing with a teenager not an eleven year old boy."

"I am not a teenager!" Tom snorted.

"I know, I know my ch…" Ms. Cole had begun answering before Tom cut her out.

"I am a young adult!" He stated that with such confidence and force that Ms. Cole saw no point in debating that point.

"Indeed you act as one, but growing up to fast can be dangerous for you, already you are detached from all the other kids, getting in trouble regularly and on the whole, you look like a very unhappy kid, young adult." She corrected her self instantly.

After five more minutes they were through with their meeting, Tom's punishment had been decided, cleaning the kitchen and the attic. No outdoors activities for three days. After a quick dinner which he ate alone in the canteen since the other kids were all finished, he went up to his room. There he began his ritual, moving the bed, carving the line. One-thousand one-hundred forty-four he whispered before he moved the bed back in place. He opened the wardrobe, lifted the loose floorboard and took out the box. After admiring his trophies for an unusually long time, he placed the box back and lay down on his bed.

"Maybe he'll come tomorrow," he thought as he fell asleep dreaming about the events in the cave.

The next day he had only one thing on his mind, revenge. That nosy little brat, Billy Stubbs, had dared to speak against him. Such behavior could not go unpunished. As he made way to the canteen for breakfast he mulled over in his head how he could take his revenge without Ms. Cole being able to get him for it. He was on a very thin ice with her right now and he was not about to test her limits any further in the next couple of weeks.

He was brought from his thoughts as Ms. McCollum spoke to him.

"Turn the plate around boy, you sure are absent minded this morning." She shook her head as she put the scrambled eggs on his plate. The whole canteen smelled like a frying pan and as Tom swallowed the first mouthful of his foul eggs he understood why they over salted it every morning. It was probably the only way to hide the taste of these old, foul eggs. Tom shrugged and looked around, the other kids did not seem to mind these sub standard meals at all. They ate it with enthusiasm as they talked, laughed and made an incredible mess all at once.

There he sat, Billy Stubbs, surrounded by the other boys, trying to talk with his mouth full, spattering eggs all over him self, the table and the floor, totally ignorant of the hammer of revenge about to fall upon him. That thought brought a shrill down Tom's spine and he forced the rest of the dismal breakfast down with a smirk on his face.

After breakfast as the kids started putting on their shoes, ready to take their foolish games outside, Ms. Rondela, one of the helpers at the orphanage walked over to Tom and told him that he was to start his detention right away and was not allowed to join the other kids outside. Tom could not care less; this gave him the perfect opportunity to get into Billy's room and find a way to get his revenge.

Ms. Rondela escorted him to the attic and told him to start with the boxes in the far corner and work his way towards the entrance. Tom had to make sure the boxes were closed properly so that rats and cockroaches could not get in them. Dust them and put them in neat stacks. Ms. Rondela left him there after telling him she would be back in two hours.

Tom quickly closed and dusted couple of boxes so that Ms. Rondela would not be able to claim that he hadn't done his punishment. But as soon as hey felt confident he had done enough he went out onto the roof through a window. He knew that he could not walk down the stairs as Ms. Cole's office was across the hall where the stair came down.

Out on the roof he looked around, he had gone out on the side facing the garden. It was the more risky side as the kids playing in the garden could see him. It was however the side in which Billy Stubbs room was so he was willing to take the risk of being seen. A risk he calculated to be marginal as those imbeciles never seemed to be aware of anything in their surrounding, which probably was a good thing or they would all find out how insignificant they and their stupid games were.

Tom moved slowly but steadily on the, once brown, clay tiles until he was above the window of Billy Stubbs room. He carefully lowered himself to the windowsill and just as he had hope the window did not have its latch on so he could open it up from the outside. Inside there were two bunks and two closets. Tom shuddered at the thought of sharing a room with three other. He had often been in rooms with others while he was younger but soon enough Ms. Cole gave up and gave Tom one of the private rooms.

Now that he was inside the room Tom realized he had no idea what he was doing there. He wanted revenge but he had so many different ways of hurting or humiliating Billy that a simple theft or vandalism seemed insignificant and crude, completely below his respect. He was angry at himself for being so prematurely impulsive, for not thinking his plan through that he walked out of the room to the hallway without giving it a second thought. As he walked towards his room Ms. Rondela spotted him and started calling after him. Tom was so deep in his thoughts that he barely noticed her calling him. But as she got closer the noise became louder and more persistent and started penetrating his thoughts. Annoyed at this interruption he carelessly swatted his hand at the sound, as if brushing a fly away. The noise stopped and he walked gloomily to his room, without looking back at Ms. Rondela that stood rooted as if she had turned into stone.

Inside his room Tom just sat at the brick of his bed. Thinking over why he had gone into Billy's room, what he should do to punish that brat and how he would deal with Ms. Cole that was increasingly getting on his nerves. Then he realized he was supposed to be up in the attic and was about to stand up and go there when there was a strong but gentle knock on the door. Tom thought that he would see Ms. Cole on the outside, furious with him leaving the attic. He slowly stood up and tried to think up a reason for not being in the attic serving his punishment. He reluctantly opened the door but instead of the plump figure of Ms. Cole he had expected, a man, in his mid fifties, wearing the most peculiar clothes stood tall, looking at Tom over a half moon spectacles that hung inexplicably low on his long crooked nose.

Tom stood there, not knowing what to do. Orphanage is not exactly a place crowded with visitors, and this visitor had an energy about him that made Tom feel awe, respect and resentment, all at once.

"Are you going to stand there watching me or invite me in, young man?" The man asked. Tom instantly liked the fact that he had been called a young man but was still confused so instead of replying he just opened the door wider and stepped aside to make space for this intriguing visitor.

"Since you are not in a very talkative mood let me introduce my self." The visitor started as he walked into the room.

"Albus Brian Wulferidge Percival Dumbledore, professor at Hogwarts School of magic and wizardry."

Tom stopped in his track but not out of surprise or lack of understanding. Quite on the contrary, it all made sense now. Mr. Dumbledore watched him curiously.

"You do not seem all that surprised Tom, most children raised outside of the magical community have a very hard time understanding that they have magical abilities and that there is a special school for witches and wizards. Tom, you are a wizard."

Tom nodded his head.

"I knew it. I knew I was not like those idiots in this disgusting place."

Mr. Dumbledore shook his head slightly and his stare into Tom's eyes seemed to be piercing through his head.

"I know it can be difficult being different and not understanding why, but never ever can you think of your fellow humans with such contempt. These kinds of thought will lead you down a dark and lonely path, path that no one should ever have to walk."

Tom felt a surge of impatient and anger flash through him.

"Don't you dare talk down to me as well. I am fully aware that I can not openly say how stupid these brats are. Ms. Cole has made that clear to me on more than one occasion. I just thought that as you are different as well, you would understand."

Mr. Dumbledore's face softened a little.

"I understand being different is not easy, but hatred and contempt I do not understand. But you are still young and you have enough time to learn and see how much more rewarding the path of love is."

"I don't care much about this path of love; no one has ever loved me so why should I love anyone. But where and when can I start in this school? Also I don't have any money but I can get the money needed. I have to get out of this place."

"And you will. Here is a letter with all the information you will need. A representative from the school will come on Wednesday the 27th of August to take you to Diagonal Alley where you will get the supplies needed. We do not under any circumstances tolerate stealing so here is a small bag of money you can use to buy your supplies. I also strongly suggest you return the yo-yo, thimble and moth organ before you come to Hogwarts."

Tom was stricken by the fact that this strange visitor knew about his prizes. Had he told anyone, would he tell anyone? He felt a knot forming in his stomach and anger rising to his head.

Mr. Dumbledore smiled and seemed completely aware of Tom's internal struggle. He clapped Tom on the back and said:

"Well, I will give you time to think this over. All the information you need is in the envelope. I better get going and help Ms. Rondella before anyone sees her in that state."

With that he walked to the door and left. Tom sat there wondering what the hell had happened! He didn't even realize what Mr. Dumbledore had said about Ms. Rondella until he had left the room.

Tom stood up and opened a crack on his door and looked out to the hallway. stood there over who was lying on the floor completely rigid.

mumbled something and waved a stick.

Ms. Rondella sprang up and was about to shout something at Mr. Dumbledore but just as the words were about to explode from her thin neck, he flicked his stick again, touched Ms. Rondella's temple with it and she fell quite again.

Mr. Dumbledore walked away but as he was just about to turn the corner he looked back at that small crack in Tom's door and directly into his eyes. The look in Mr. Dumbledore's eyes was a mixture of interest and sadness. It made Tom feel very insecure and uneasy so he shut the door and sat on the floor.


End file.
